


Wild Hearts Can't Be Broken

by beaniebaneenie



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, kent moves to england, this is more hockey adjacent than hockey
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-04-26 00:21:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14390178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beaniebaneenie/pseuds/beaniebaneenie
Summary: A year after Jack Zimmermann came out, Kent has managed to keep the NHL world thinking that he's straight, for his own protection. He knows his team, and his team wouldn't be pleased, to say the least. Just when he thinks he may be safe from the news cycles, an old hookup comes out of the woodwork and sends his life spiraling.When the Aces refuse to stand behind him, Kent decides to get as far away from hockey as he can stand... England has some nice touristy things, right? Pretty scenery, no ice, some quiet things to keep him busy and not thinking about the rest of his life. An escape from everything. No strings. No feelings.And then Charles Bainbridge comes along.





	1. Video

* * *

 

It was almost funny. Well, no… No, it really wasn't funny at all. If he were someone else looking at this, he would probably find it funny. Even though Jack Zimmermann had completely blindsided him last year and come out on center ice, under the Stanley Cup for crying out loud, he'd managed to get through that whole mess without being outed. Not that Zimmermann had given a second's worth of thought to this.

Kent had worked his way through dozens of interviews, through articles, through phone calls… Chats with his publicist into the wee hours of the morning, working through what wording to use, to make it clear that he supported Jack, that he absolutely supported the entire LBT community… But that he was absolutely 100%, unequivocally straight.

It was a load of hogwash, but with the vitriol simmering within the Aces? It was what he had to do to survive. He'd spent his first few years in the desert working through that, helping himself learn that hiding didn't mean he was ashamed… It meant that he spent sixty plus hours a week getting hit by guys who were bigger than him with knives strapped to their feet- and they didn't need another reason to hit him. And if they knew… At least two thirds of them would definitely take a swing.

Kent felt a buzzing in his ears and had a brief moment where he thought he might be having a panic attack before his common sense kicked in and reminded him that this was not anxiety… The buzzing noise was another person on the other end of the phone. His phone.

And his publicist, actually.

"Sorry Zahra," he said, forcing himself to pay attention. "I'm gonna need you to repeat that." He felt awful for making her go over things again, but based on her tone, it was crucial that he know what she was talking about.

"Phillip, Kent. Do you know anything about a Phillip?"

"Who?"

Kent heard her sigh through the other end of the phone. He wracked his brain, rubbing the hem of his shirt between his fingers to help him concentrate. He wasn't related to any Phillips. None of his teammates had that name, as first or last.

"Not ringing any bells, Zahra."

"You're absolutely sure?"

"…pretty," he said.

"No one you've hooked up with recently?"

Zahra was one of a handful of people who knew about Kent's sexuality, and the only one on the west coast. He'd trusted her with his secret after the Aces had given him his five-year multi-million contract. She'd been in his corner since the first day they met, and that hadn't changed when he'd come out to her. If she was asking the question now…

"Zahra," he said slowly, willing his heart to slow down, "what happened?"

"Breathe Kent, it's okay," she said. "We can deny the article, I can get in touch with the site again, make sure that they receive a cease and desist-"

"What article? Something about Jack?" Jeez, these vultures. He tried to think if there was anyone named Phillip that might be connected to either him or Jack that he'd even _met_ recently. But there wasn't. Especially since Zimms had come out, Kent had been doubling down on his safety routines. Staying in, not going clubbing, not even remotely near a gay bar… And when he did go out with the team, not letting his gaze linger anywhere but his drink. He knew more than half of his team would not take kindly to a queer captain. Since Zimms' announcement, there had been a lot of extra eyes on him, both his personal and professional life, and Kent had made sure In this last year that there was nothing for them to find.

Of course… he hadn't always been this careful. Even just a couple years ago, he'd snuck out to gay bars, knowing that the Vegas tourists weren't paying much attention to anything besides the music, the booze, and the bodies around them. No one ever looked at his face. And if they did, they were usually too plastered to remember anything, or they didn't give a shit about hockey. It had always been a win-win.

Actually, the hand jobs and sex had never really been what he'd have called great - he'd always been trying to run from something, or hide from something… but all of his partners had been doing the exact same thing. All they'd wanted was a hot body against theirs, and Kent could do that. He'd never had any complaints. Or repeats. Everything was safer that way.

"Oh shit-biscuits. Fuck!"

Kent felt something in the pit of his stomach go cold. Something was clearly going pear-shaped, but he had absolutely no idea what, and if he didn't know what, then he couldn't fix it- if he couldn't fix it- he needed to know what-

Kent clenched his hands and un clenched them, trying to count backwards from ten in French. He only got to seven before the question bubbled out like lava.

"Zahra, tell me… Please?"

"Shit, sorry. Kent… I don't think you're trying to hide something from me- but… Kent, this reporter has video."

"I thought you said you were handling it?" Fuck. "God, Zahra, I'm- I'm sorry. You don't deserve that, I'm so sorry."

"I understand Kent… No hard feelings, I promise."

He didn't deserve her. Really, he didn't.

"This asshole reporter though, I swear… Him, I'm gonna kill."

Kent couldn't bring himself to ask again, but he had to know. "The video," he croaked out, unable to guess what It might show.

"Kent, it's bad." Unusually for her, Zahra wasn't pulling any punches. Or if she was, it was even worse than Kent was imagining. Kent shook as he made his way to his couch and sat down with a heavy thump.

"Tell me."

She sighed. "The footage is crystal clear, there's no denying that it's you. You can even see all your tattoos…"

Kent felt like he was going to be sick, but he still didn't understand. "How-"

"Wait," Zahra said, "not all your tattoos. I can see the daisies on your shoulder, but the one you got last year, of the heart on Pluto- that's not there."

Kent swallowed down the bile in his throat. "What color are the daisies?" He asked, his voice trembling, the last piece of the puzzle clicking into place.

"Kent, why-"

"Please, Zahra. Tell me."

"They- they're not a color, Kent. It's- it’s just the line work."

A minute ago, his insides had been churning. Now, it was as if they were made of lead. He knew _exactly_ who Phillip was.

After that disastrous party at Jack's college, Kent had called his sister from he side of the road, about ten miles outside of Boston. He'd tearfully come out to her- desperate for someone he loved to tell him that they loved him back. Not his media persona- him. The real him. Of course, Daisy had cried too, and had promised him that it would always be the two of them, that she would always have his back. He loved her so much, and he'd needed to put that love on his body, a tangible reminder. Just like he'd done with everyone else who mattered to him.

He'd found a tattoo shop in Davis Square that took walk-ins, and gotten his artist to work up a beautiful design. Daisies for Daisy, spilling down his shoulder and wrapping around him, keeping him safe.

Phillip had been in the shop too, getting an anchor on his bicep. Kent's emotional state, and the drinks he'd had earlier, made his tongue loose, and he'd started flirting. Phillip had reciprocated. The drinks at that stupid party meant that his shoulder couldn't take as much ink, so he'd left the shop with only the line work completed… And had ended up in Phillip's hotel room.

One thing had led to another, and after listening to him talk about visiting his cousin in Boston, they'd started kissing. And comparing ink. And touching each other, and kissing some more. All that kissing and touching had led to sex. It had certainly helped that Phillip was taller than him, with dark hair. He didn't have blue eyes… but with Phillip behind and inside him, Kent could pretend that he was with Jack one more time.

"-still there?"

Shit, he'd completely forgotten that Zahra was still on the phone. He cleared his throat. "Yeah… Yeah, Zahra. Still here. I uh," he coughed, trying to remember how to push air in and out of his lungs. "I do know him. That- that is me," he said, "in that video."

"You knew he filmed you?"

" _No_ ," Kent was adamant on that point. He'd been desperate and needed someone to touch him, but he hadn't been stupid, and he never would have agreed to cameras. Even through the desperation and alcohol haze back then, he'd known how far in the closet he was, and what kind of team he played for. He'd known that back then. Now. Well…not now. Not anymore. "No way. I never would have green-lit that. Never."

"I believe you, Kent. I promise. This should help though. If I could get you to write a statement on that, not necessarily a public one, but just one for the paper, to the lawyers. We could get the video taken down on grounds of illegality, maybe."

 Kent nodded. That was all well and good, but the Internet was forever. He knew that. There would be no getting this video back. They could try to minimize its impact, but this would be… hell. He knew that already.

"I can do that, Zahra, I can write you a thing… by tonight, I guess?"

"Sure, Kent. The sooner the better, obviously," she said, "but tonight is definitely fine."

He dragged a hand through his hair. He had a lot to do. At least it was the off-season, he thought with a grim chuckle. Plenty of time. "I guess we both have a few calls to make, huh?"

"Yeah. Kent, listen," Zahra said, I just want you to know- I'm behind you with this, okay? One hundred percent, Kent. Whatever you need, whatever you want us to do… Including legal avenues, okay?"

That was comforting, but he honestly hadn't even thought about that yet.

"Thanks, seriously." He hoped the gratitude was coming through the exhaustion in his voice.

"Of course, Kent. I've got you."

"I never doubt you, Zahra. I appreciate you, you know that. Right?" He had to make sure she knew.

"Aw, Parser. Don't make me cry," she said, but he could hear the smile in her voice. "Parse, go pet your cat, call someone If you need to talk, and then write that statement. Actually, if you want, I can write something and have you sign off on it, if that’s easier?”

Kent felt the weight around his lungs lessen, only slightly, but it was enough. Words had never been his strong point, especially when they were important. “I kind of love you.”

She laughed. “Sure, Parse. I’ll email you later, okay?”

A few moments later, Kent hung up and tried to stand. His legs shook like jello, knees refusing to support his weight, and rather than hurt himself, he let them give out and collapsed back onto the couch. His hands trembled as he opened and closed his Chrome app three times. He shouldn’t do this. He really shouldn’t look up the video of him and Phillip. He’d been talking with his therapist Maxine about not giving in to negative stimming, and he’d been getting better at it. But he knew he still cracked sometimes.

He cracked now.

He pulled up his internet and googled himself, which he hadn’t done in a while. Zahra had been telling him for years to leave it to her, and every time he ignored her advice, he always wound up wishing that he’d listened.

Kent barely made it into his bathroom before he started heaving, emptying the contents of his stomach into the toilet. Every time he closed his eyes, he felt hot tears from the retching and the image of himself wrapped around Phillip, an image that hundreds – if not thousands – of people had now seen. All those people had seen him at one of the most desperate moments of his life, and even if they didn’t have the backstory, he knew. He knew what that moment was, and that private moment, the moment after Jack had ripped his world from underneath him, this was ripped away from him too.

Kent shook, gasping for breath, forcing himself to count out loud, in English and French this time, to bring himself back. He couldn’t get images from the video out of his head, and he knew that wasn’t going to change any time soon. Kent focused on the cold tile biting into his knees and the smooth porcelain under his fingers until he could breathe better.

He had to get himself together. He had a meeting with his agent and team management tomorrow about his contract renewal, and he needed to walk in that room with a clear head. Hockey was all he had left. He couldn’t lose that too.

 

* * *

 


	2. Contract

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kent goes in for his contract meeting. It... doesn't go well. So he does what he considers himself best at: getting drunk and making questionable decisions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a few trigger warnings. 
> 
> TW for: homophobic language, slut shaming, harassment, workplace harassment, sexual harassment, excessive drinking. 
> 
> If there are any others that folks need, please let me know. I'm happy to add as necessary. Thanks!

* * *

 

_Hockey was all he had left. He couldn’t lose that too._

* * *

Kent groaned as the opening bars of Britney’s ‘Circus’ jangled out of his phone speakers, far too close to his head for comfort. He sat up straighter, rubbing his face and rolling out his shoulders. Looking around his bathroom, he winced. It had been a long time since he’d fallen asleep on his toilet.

Checking the time on his phone, he was glad to see that his usual morning alarm woke him, and he still has a few hours before his meeting with management. First things first though, he had to gargle and get the rank taste out of his mouth, then shower and get dressed well enough to hide the fact that he’d spent the night on his bathroom floor. He couldn’t afford to fall apart.

Kent scrubbed his face, hoping that the new citrus facial scrub he bought last week ‘pepped up his pores’ like it promised. He needed to be at the top of his game for this meeting. His contract was up for renewal, and even though no one was expecting him to sign a contract today, he knew he would be handed one. He needed to walk in there, confident and self-assured, media smile firmly in place.

He knew that they would already know about the video. They might have even seen it, though he was hoping that their lack of internet-savvy might mean that they hadn’t. They could not know that he spent the night sleeping curled around his toilet.

Ninety minutes, two advil, and one protein smoothie later, Kent got into his truck and drove to the arena. Forty-five minutes after that, his Jeep was parked in his spot, and he walked inside, running his fingers through his hair. It would never lie flat, he knew that. But crazy hair was better than hat hair, for a meeting at least. His jeans were clean- no holes or spills or doodles where Swoops had gotten bored on a long flight. His sleeves were rolled up in an attempt to look put-together, yet casual… he hoped this meeting would be short. He still wasn’t feeling well, and even though he could fake it as long as he had to, he didn’t want to have to for long.

Usually when he came in for one of these things, he had to sit and wait for everyone to show up. He and Zahra were the only ones with any sense of punctuality. She was here all right, but she wasn’t alone. He caught her eye and raised an eyebrow, but the look she gave him back didn’t reassure him at all. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled, and he had a sudden urge to run from the room. But doing that would mean that the conference room’s other inhabitants would see it, and demand explanations.

Kent forced himself to breathe normally. He had no idea why the team’s owner was here.

His coach, the team GM, sure…. He expected them. He even expected his agent, though this was the first time Krenner had ever been on time.

“Nice of you to join us, Parson.”

Kent kept his tone neutral as he made a bit of a show checking his email. “Good morning, Mr. Foss. My email said this meeting was supposed to start at ten, so-” he checked his watch, “unless I got some wires crossed, I’m still ten minutes early.”

“Of course, Parson. Got an answer for everything, don’t you?”

Kent resisted the urge to roll his eyes or say something snarky. They were about to talk about the video, and then hand him his contract for the next half a decade. He could hold his tongue for a couple minutes. Once it was signed – with his no trade clause that was supposed to be there – then he could get a little mouthy if he wanted.

When it became clear that Kent wasn’t going to rise to the bait, The GM, Cooper, spoke up. “Well, we’ve got a lot to get to, so why don’t we-”

“Sure, sure,” Foss said. “Parson, this video presents the team with a serious problem.”

“I never gave him permission to shoot that video,” Kent said. He wouldn’t give Phillip the satisfaction of even saying his name. “Shooting it, much less posting it, was illegal.”

Kent glanced around the room. His agent looked unfazed, as always, but the other three men looked like they were trying to swallow a lemon. Zahra took a chance and put in her two cents.

“Gentlemen, Kent’s already written a statement for the online publication that released the video, and it’s been removed from their site on potential grounds of illegality and voyeurism. They’ve been served a C&D, and are in talks with our attorneys to minimize damage control. But,” she said, clearly looking like she wasn’t enjoying this part, “The internet is forever. There’s no way we’ll be able to get every copy of that video scrubbed from the net. And other publications and sites have already posted articles concerning Kent’s private life and sexuality. We’re working to keep them quiet, since privacy is a right, but it’s going to be an uphill battle. Still, I think it’s important to remember, Kent is the victim here.”

Kent’s thoughts about giving Zahra a raise were interrupted by the chuckle from his coach. “Didn’t look like Parson was the victim from my seat. Looked like he was enjoyin’ everything that little homo was giving him.”

Kent’s entire thought process shuddered to a halt. He knew the Aces weren’t welcoming of diversity, and he definitely knew that most of the team was homophobic – it was the biggest part of why he had never come out to anyone out here – but he had thought that they were at least smart enough to cover their own asses and not say anything outright horrible.

Zahra was the first one to speak. “Excuse me?” Her voice was tight, but definitely shocked and upset on Kent’s behalf.

“You heard me, sweetheart. Parson here just admitted that the deed took place, he just wasn’t smart enough to see the camera. Or maybe he did know about it,” Coach Huxley sneered. “Maybe he gets off on that, and just didn’t think it would come back to bite him in the ass.”

Kent couldn’t let Zahra take a bullet for him. “I didn’t know,” he said slowly, firmly. He had to make them understand. “I had absolutely no idea. Consider this,” he said, looking his coach in the eye. “You didn’t know I wasn’t straight, right? Until yesterday, I was a closeted athlete. I wasn’t about to let myself get filmed doing something decidedly not straight, now, was I?”

Huxley didn’t have a response to that, but the smirk stayed annoyingly on his face.

Cooper cleared his throat, nodding at Zahra. Huxley conceded, but he still looked infuriatingly smug.

“Yes, Cooper. You’re right. Parson, seeing as the little lady has a lot of work to do concerning your… image,” he sneered, “maybe she could go about her business? We’re done with everything relevant to her anyway.”

Kent opened his mouth to say something, to tell him that he couldn’t talk about Zahra that way, not her, not when she was working so hard to protect both Kent and the Aces, when she had always been there for him, but he caught the shake of her head.  _This is not the time_. He understood why she was doing it, but he wished he could punch every one of them. Zahra was better than all of them put together.

She gently squeezed his shoulder as she left, the conference room door shutting behind her with a click that seemed to crack through Kent’s eardrums.

Kent almost didn’t know where to start, or what was coming. But he slipped back into his media persona as best he could. He leaned forward, lacing his fingers together on the table. “Contract talk’s next up, right?”

The other men exchanged glances.

There had to be a contract. They couldn’t do that to him, they couldn’t just not give him a contract. But before a panic attack could truly start to spiral, Cooper slapped a clutch of papers on the table and, reluctantly it seemed, slid them over to Kent, who immediately turned to the last page, where the key phrase “no trade clause” and the salary and duration would be.

He had to read it four times before it sunk in.

“Are you  _fucking_  kidding me?”

“Watch your damn mouth, Parson,” growled Huxley.

Kent was practically shaking. “I was your top scorer this season. The league’s top scorer. I’ve been in the top three every year I’ve played, since I started. I’m _captain_ ,” he said, digging his nails into his palm to keep him from hitting the table. “I brought you three god damn Stanley Cups. This?” he said, picking up the contract. “This is bullshit, and you know it.”

“Coach Huxley is right,” Foss said, a patronizing smile affixed to his meaty face. “You’d better watch your mouth, son.”

“I am not your son,” Kent said, his voice low.

“Look here, Parson, if you don’t shut your mouth and take what’s good for you, you won’t be one of my players either. After that video, you’re lucky I didn’t rip the ‘C’ from your sweater myself.”

“Two fucking years?” Kent asked, “that’s it? I built this team, I’ve given you everything, since the day I left my family and came out here. And that’s all you think I deserve?”

Cooper took a sip from his Starbucks cup, and it was all Kent could do not to scream while he waited for an answer.

“Parson, this video of yours brought things into perspective. Your little… problem,” he said, “well, it doesn’t fit with our brand. It’s not who we are. Sure, you played the game for a while, making denials after Zimmermann’s publicity stunt. But after this? Everyone knows now. You’re just as tainted goods as he was back in ’09.”

“Don’t you dare talk about Jack like-”

“Hoo-hoo, the rumors are  _true_ ,” Huxley crooned, his sing-song rhyme making Kent want to be sick again. “Princess, just because you like ‘em tall, dark, and handsome doesn’t mean I’ll put up with that shit on my team.”

“Your team? I wrote every play that got us those cup wins,” Kent said. “Me. I did that.”

Foss stuck his hand out, stopping Huxley from whatever garbage he was about to spew out next. “Settle down, the lot of you. Let’s get one thing straight, Parson. This team is not ‘your team’, it’s mine. And things’ll happen the way I want them to, or they won’t happen at all. Cooper’s right, you’re tainted goods now. You think any other team will want to take on this PR nightmare? No way in hell. You’re stuck here if you want to keep playing. And if you want to keep playing, you’ll take that generous offer, and the lower salary, and you’ll sit your ass down and you’ll like it.”

Kent’s knees gave out and as he sank down, he was grateful the chair was underneath him so he didn’t end up on the floor. At a loss for what to say, Kent looked down at the contract again, and at the salary listed. Getting worked up at the duration, he hadn’t even looked at it. But now…

“A million five?” Would this bullshit ever end?

“What did I just get done saying about sitting down and liking it?”

Kent stood up again. “I made seven last year. For the last five years. Are you seriously telling me that you’re taking your captain, your top scorer, and cutting my salary by seventy-nine percent?”

Foss was getting angry now, his face a blotchy red. “We need to build up some room in the salary cap for your replacement in two years.”

Kent felt like he’d been smashed into the boards. They threw this pitiful excuse for a resign contract in his face – two years at a million and a half instead of the half a decade at his current salary – and then let slip that they weren’t planning on offering him anything at all once it was over?

“What the hell did you expect, Parson?” Huxley was laughing at him. “You think an NHL team is gonna keep a fairy like you around any longer than they have to? Sure, you’re okay out there on the ice, but this year, you couldn’t even get the team past round one. You think anyone out there is gonna respect you one iota after they see that video? Why in the hell would we keep you on the roster? These two years? They’re a gift. Take them.”

Kent knew he was shaking, and he knew if he said anything to these assholes right now, that he was just as likely to take a swing. He clamped his mouth shut, forcing himself to just concentrate on breathing for the moment.

“All right Gents, I think that’s enough testosterone for now.”

Kent jumped at the sound of his agent’s voice. Krenner had been sitting in silence for the last twenty minutes, and he looked utterly unruffled, even though everyone else in the room was showing signs of the argument.

Foss recovered first, straightening his tie. “Fair enough, Mr. Krenner. Hopefully you can talk some sense into him.”

Kent stood there as they all walked around the mahogany table, filing around him and giving him sneering looks that made him feel dirty. As Huxley walked around him, last to leave, he slapped Kent’s ass hard, laughing as Kent flinched, and slammed the door behind him.

 _Don’t cry_ , Kent thought, forcing himself to breathe through the stinging pain.  _Don’t cry_. Don’t let them see, don’t let anyone see that they hurt you.

Krenner swiped lazily through his phone, then looked up after a minute. “That was a morning, huh?”

“…is that all you have to say? Really?”

“Kid-”

“I’m 25.”

“What?”

“I’m 25, I’m not a kid.” Kent wouldn’t let himself be humiliated anymore today.

Krenner waved his hands. “You got it. Anyway, this contract.” He pointed to it, still gripped tightly in Kent’s hand. “You should sign it.”

“You’re fucking kidding. You have to be.” Kent couldn’t believe his ears. “You know I’m worth more than this. Those homophobic asshats can’t do this to me, you know it’s illegal. They don’t have any legal reason to pay me less, or not to sign me for five years or longer. You  _know_  that.” Kent hadn’t let the team down. He hadn’t. He had given them everything. They were all he had.

“Parse, they’re not wrong about other teams not wanting this problem.”

“You mean me,” he said. “Just say it.”

“No, Parse… well,” he amended, “yeah. They don’t wanna wade through the crap that this Valdis kid brought on.”

“The NHL’s been around for nearly a century, it’s about time they got their head out of-” Wait. Wait just a  _god damn minute_. “How do you know his last name?”

“Parson-”

“Answer the fucking question!”

“He approached me, keep your pants on.”

Kent had thought he’d had enough revelations for one day, but apparently he was wrong. “You’d better have more to say than that, Krenner.”

“He called me about a month ago, wanted to set up a meeting. I don’t meet with clients without referrals, so I let it go. A week later, he’s still calling, so I take the call to get him to shut up.” Krenner was back to swiping through his phone, and Kent was milliseconds away from chucking it into a wall.

“Kid says he’s got dirt on one of my clients, says he could ruin Kent Parson if he wanted to. But he won’t, for a price. Heh, like he’s some kinda Godfather wannabe. Says he’s got a sex tape of you with him, but he’ll make it all go away for a cool two mil.” Krenner rolled his eyes. “That if I didn’t believe him, to talk to you, to ask where you got your daisy tattoo, and that he wanted the money in two weeks, or he was gonna go public.”

Kent couldn’t breathe. Krenner kept talking.

“Figured the kid was bluffing, but if he wasn’t, I could probably spin it. I wasn’t about to shell out two million. Oh well.”

That did it. “Oh well?” Kent said. “That’s your response to my life getting ruined, my privacy destroyed, my career flattened? Oh fucking  _well_? You knew… you knew he had this, and you didn’t even bother to mention it to me? That’s your response. You sit here, and watch my bosses hurl insults at me, sexually harass me, hit me!” he said. “And your answer is just…. ‘oh well’?”

“Kid, I’ve got over fifty high profile clients, and twenty of those are hotshot athletes just like you. No skin off my back if your life is a trash fire.”

For the sixth time in twenty-four hours, Kent was hit with the unshakeable knowledge that someone he’d trusted with his life had betrayed him, had dumped him. Had been willing to destroy him. Shoving past Krenner, who was still in the cushy spinning chair, Kent wrenched the door open and stormed out, desperate to get outside the building and to the parking lot before the tears started falling. He had to get out of here. He couldn’t do this anymore.

He made it to his car without running into anyone, friendly or otherwise, and even though his brain was spinning in a hundred different directions, he was steady enough to know that he had no business getting behind the wheel of a car. He walked out to the entryway to the main drag out front of the arena, and with shaking fingers, ordered a lyft. It took a while for someone to accept the drive all the way out to Henderson, but eventually a red hatchback showed up and took him home. Kent exchanged brief pleasantries as he got in the car, but other than that, the drive was silent, and Kent appreciated it. He just had to keep himself together until he got home, and then he could absolutely fall apart. As they drove, he noticed that the contract was still in his hand. It was almost funny. But it really, really wasn’t.

* * *

Thank all the gods for Netflix. It was always there for him. He’d seen all the episodes of the Great British Bake Off at least three times already, which really made it perfect, because between the glass of wine (which had turned into more than one glass) and his internet searches, it was really a good thing that he wasn’t having to pay close attention to get any plot out of it.

He had to get the fuck out of here. Every minute that he was in Vegas felt like the heat was crushing him even more. He felt so cold, like a wind was whipping around him and no one was offering any shelter. No, wait. That wasn’t really right. Vegas was a desert. The hot thing worked better, he thought.

He was definitely drunk. He let out a wet laugh that was still sort of a sob as he watched Kit bat her paws at the empty rosé bottle on the floor. His second bottle was safe on the table. “Your lil legs can’t jump up, baby girl, ‘s okay.” At least Kit loved him.

He refilled his glass. He might as well aim to finish this bottle too. He was on summer vacation, after all.

“I should do that,” he said to no one in particular. “How about that… whoo,” he cheered as Mary critiqued a crumble. “You tell her, Mar’.” Kent sniffed, not bothering to wipe his tears away. He was at home, and everything about today had been entirely awful. He was allowed to cry in his own damn house on his own damn couch if he wanted.

“I should go on a real vacation.”

He could. He could do that. Since the Aces clearly didn’t want him, there was no reason he had to stick around here all summer and work his ass off and eat until he felt sick to kill himself for a team that didn’t want him.

He pulled up Google, and debated typing in ‘vacation alone’ before deciding that he wasn’t quite that pathetic, and instead typed ‘vacation classes’. He could learn something, right? Something not related at all to hockey.

He texted Swoops.

 

KVP: bro what do ppl do on vacay

Swoops: Um, I don’t really know, man. Whatever they want?

KVP: srs dude help a bro out

Swoops: Are you drunk?

KVP: maaaaaayB

Swoops: Okay. Just be smart about it and call me if you need me to come get you.

Swoops: The last time Jenny and I went on a vacation, we took a couple’s pottery class. It was fun.

 

Pottery. He could do that.

He wanted to get the fuck out of Vegas though. Could he go out of America? He had millions… what the hell good was it if he didn’t use it? And Daisy and his mom were always telling him to spend some of it on himself for a change. Sure. He could do that.

Somewhere the spoke English though. His French was hella rusty, and the only words he knew in German and Russian were either hockey words or swear words, and that was probably not a good idea.

England it was.

Kent searched for ‘pottery vacation classes in England’.

 

_Did you mean_ **Potteries vacation classes in England** _?_

Huh. There was a whole part of England where they were famous for Pottery. But what if he looked like an idiot or said something dumb? He’d never been to college… what if he did like, a class over the summer at a college there? He could do that… right?

A quick search told him that he could be in England for up to six months without a visa, so that was one less problem. Another search told him that the University of Leeds was still accepting students for a twelve week beginner and intermediate pottery course. The first class was in – he paused to count on his fingers – just under four weeks.

Damn.

Kit bumped her head against his hand, and he reflexively leaned down to give her skritches. She meowed loudly, nudging him.

……just because the course didn’t start right away didn’t mean that he couldn’t go out there now. That would only be four months. Still within the visa time limit. He could do this.

He booked his spot on the course.

Maybe this was dumb. It was probably dumb. But he was gonna do it anyway. Fuck it.

He got up from the floor – when did he sit on the floor? – and started throwing things into his big suitcase. Clothes, socks. Underwear- he needed that. His favorite blanket from the back of the couch. He smiled. Packing while drunk was both super fun and probably also not a good idea.

Shit- plane tickets.

Sweet, there was a nonstop from Vegas to London tomorrow, in the morning. He could do this. Damn, early ass morning. He looked at his watch. The flight was at 7:35am… it was three something now. He could do this, it was okay. He booked the ticket, and checked off the boxes that said he’d be travelling with an animal. Kit was coming with him. He couldn’t do this without her.

About an hour later, he was as packed as he was going to be. If he’d forgotten anything, he could get new shit there. Kent coaxed Kit into her carrier, and shouldered on his backpack, wheeling his big duffel out the door and locking up.

“Bye apartment,” he said in the hall, quietly, in case people were sleeping. Duh, he thought. It’s four am. Normal people are asleep.

One elevator ride later, he was in a lyft to the airport. He checked his big suitcase, tipping the skycap a hundred. The guy was nice, he deserved it. Kent had a nice chat with the TSA agent, showing her the online confirmation of his pottery class, and promising to visit Buckingham Palace. He was glad it was so early in the morning… his lingering drunk-ness could be played off as a caffeine deficiency.

By the time he got through security, it was time to board. First class, with the seat next to him booked for Kit. The flight wasn’t full, but that didn’t surprise him. As he watched the flight safety demo with half-lidded eyes, his exhaustion caught up with him. Kent felt absolutely wrung out, physically and emotionally. Poking a finger through Kit’s carrier and smiling softly when she licked his hand, Kent let his eyes slip closed, ready to push off any worries about this decision for the next ten hours. He knew there would be consequences, but just now, he felt like he’d earned the right not to give a shit about anyone in Vegas.

As the desert got smaller and smaller in the window, Kent didn’t feel like he was leaving anything behind, not even home. He was sure that said something, and probably something important. But right now, he wasn’t going to think about any of this. He was going to sleep, and hope that the grass on the other side was really green. 

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was born from a lot of discussions on the Parse Posse..... y'all are amazing and I love you all so much. 
> 
> Special thanks to Tagg, Linnea, Britt, Rianne, Alice, Pau, restfulinsomniac, fresh granola, Abigail, and Tony. They've all had a hand in creating some things with this verse, and I love you all. (If I forgot anyone, I'm sorry! let me know and I'll add you into the acknowledgments <3 )


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